


Keeping Lookout

by rasalcool



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, I swear it's FLUFF It's NOT sad, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Post-Under the Red Hood, Tired Bruce Wayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:35:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22871107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rasalcool/pseuds/rasalcool
Summary: Bruce doesn't trust him anymore, Jay is pretty sure. He wishes he didn't hate that.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 17
Kudos: 329





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was struck with sudden inspiration and wrote this in like two hours on the bus please don't hate me

Bruce hadn't _trusted_ Jay for years.

Jay knew better than to take it personally. Water was wet, what went up came down, and Batman trusted nobody outside his very small inner circle. Golden Boy and Alfred, mostly; the other Robins, sometimes; Cass; maybe Superman. Internationally-wanted serial killers did not make that list. Which was fine-- it wasn't as though having his trust brought you anything but misery, Jay knew that firsthand. Bruce's trust was always entwined with impossible expectations. You were bound to disappoint him; Jay knew that firsthand too. It was only a matter of time.

There was no reason to be hurt that Bruce didn't trust him. It wasn't as though he'd put his life on the line for the guy or anything. Wasn't as though he'd been willing to devote the rest of eternity to fighting his stupid war for him. Wasn't as though he'd paraded around the city in green short shorts just because that bastard wanted him to.

It wasn't as though Bruce hadn't been the one to fail _him_ in the end.

He'd been a _damn_ good soldier.

Still was, in spite of his best efforts. His reasons aside, he still wore that damn Bat on his chest; not even death had been sufficient to pull him out of Bruce's event horizon. He liked to think of himself as the rebel, the black sheep, the iconoclast-- the one with the balls to break the rules-- but at the end of the day, when crime or injustice or a mass Arkham outbreak brought Gotham to its knees, and Bruce was hard-pressed enough to call for all hands on deck, Jay asked how high just like the rest of them.

Fuck having a sense of self, apparently. Fuck his independence, and his principled objections. Fuck his earned, reasonable hatred. Everything he'd built in himself since he'd clawed out of his grave went right the fuck out the window at the ghost of a chance to be used again by Bruce Bastard Wayne.

It wasn't entirely to do with him, Jay thought, in feeble self-defense. Gotham was his home. And he still fought for justice, no matter what Bruce thought of his methods. 

But. Bruce wouldn't have taken up residence in his skull like this if part of him hadn't still been the kid who'd died full of idealism and hero-worship and certainty that Batman would save him somehow.

And that kid was the part of him that had to lick his wounds at the downward curve of Bruce's mouth, or the shuttering of his eyes, or the ever-present scowl; he sulked when Bruce spoke quietly enough that only Dick could hear, shuddered when he turned away without acknowledging Jay. He shrieked in raucous, envious fury when he saw how Bruce and his golden boy still fought seamlessly back-to-back like one mind in two bodies, and how he and the replacement hardly needed to talk when putting cases together in the dim light of the Batcave, or how the brat could command his attention with just the click of his tongue. He pounded desperately against the inside of his own chest, wailing, when he saw the look of _pride_ Cass got when she took down twelve guys at once. 

That kid was giving Jay a hell of a headache. 

Explaining calmly to himself that he no longer wanted or cared about Bruce's approval didn't help. Neither did drowning the clamor with smoke and gunfire. Neither did alcohol. Neither did the sharp, blinding light that bloomed behind his eyes at a bullet to the knee. By the time the mission had officially ended, and all inmates had been returned to their cells, all Jay wanted to do was leave, be away from them-- but his body had been through so many days of constant stress that it refused to do anything other than flop down in his old spot on the couch and try and fail to catch its breath.

Traitor. After all Jay'd done for it.

The Manor was an unfamiliar place now. In Jay's time it had been a haunting, silent hollow-- still more mausoleum than home, full of ghosts and echoes. He'd loved it-- he'd been used to the unforgiving cold of Gotham's streets, and was familiar with the way to make small pockets of warmth in a sea of darkness. One lone light on in the kitchen, maybe, while he and Bruce shared a hot cocoa-- or both of them on the roof under blankets, Bruce pointing out constellations and insisting when questioned that this was a vital part of a crimefighter's education. The new Manor proved not to be so bad, though, once he'd gotten accustomed; it was, if nothing else, merciful, and didn't force him to confront too many old irretrievable memories. The chatter of strange voices and the scratch of new claws against the floor faded eventually into a pleasant background hum. Alfred brought him tea, and the others stopped to chat idly when they could spare a few minutes from their own recovery. 

Even Bruce emerged from the Batcave eventually, once he was finished writing up the event log and doing whatever arcane post-mission rituals he'd put in place. He made a beeline for his bathroom first, all purpose and directed energy, but when he emerged-- in a cloud of steam, wrapped in his dressing gown, hair damp and curling at the ends-- he just wandered around for a while as though mildly confused, and then he sat down next to Jay.

Like that was anywhere near normal.

He said nothing, thankfully-- Jay might have imploded if he had. He just relaxed against the back of the couch, eyes half-lidded and languidly fluttering, breath perfectly even. 

Jay watched, horrified, in slow-motion as Bruce-- clearly asleep-- shifted positions, wavered, and then toppled over into his lap.

There was a sacred prohibition against waking Bruce once he'd fallen asleep, no matter how inconvenient his chosen resting place-- it was rare enough as it was for the man to get some damn rest-- but Jay couldn't just take this lying down. "Careful," he said before he could think about it, hand coming to rest on Bruce's shoulder on the pretext of shaking him awake. "You let these kids see you sleep, maybe they'll realize you're less Cupid and more winged serpent."

Bruce blinked up at him for a moment and then snuffled indistinctly-- laughter, Jay realized with a start. He hadn't heard Bruce laugh for the entire mission. He hadn't seen anyone else make Bruce laugh while he'd been here. Even before, Jay had been one of the only people who could do it intentionally, rather than by making an idiot of himself. 

That meant nothing, probably. Bruce didn't even like to laugh, since it ruined the stern and dour image he liked so much to maintain. And it wasn't as though one dumb joke could fix everything that had happened between them--would that it could, but all it did was sharpen the loss. 

Still, Jay carefully filed the knowledge away in his mind.

"You'll have to raise the alarm if anyone comes near with hot oil," Bruce mumbled, and then settled more comfortably, head pillowed on Jason's thigh.

Jay stared at him. "You're not seriously going to sleep."

"I've been up for the last four days," Bruce pointed out, voice slurred with exhaustion. "Is there a fire?"

"No?"

"Is anyone bleeding?"

"No--"

"Well, then," Bruce said, almost amiably, and closed his eyes again.

"But you--" 

"Alfred will tranq me if I don't, at this point."

This, Jay knew, was true. He'd seen it happen. He began to run his fingers through the strands of hair at the base of Bruce's neck, looking for a dart or a telltale puncture wound-- Bruce was too coherent to have been sedated, but surely that was the only explanation for this.

Apparently under the impression that the matter was settled, Bruce went to sleep.

Jay knew that Bruce had trouble sleeping. He'd put it together a long time ago that he couldn't quite do it without someone on hand to keep a lookout-- hence all the napping at the kitchen table while Alfred cooked, or how he'd trap Dick on the couch for hours at a time. When Jay had been Robin he'd sometimes looked up from a book or his homework to find Bruce asleep in a nearby armchair.

It had been routine once, certainly, but it wasn't _anymore_. Why would Bruce want him to keep lookout now? Bruce didn't trust him.

 _Vulnerable_ was not often a word that could be applied to Batman, but as Jay looked down at him now, it was all he could think. Bruce was exhausted, asleep, body mangled from days of fighting. He could snap his neck, easily, right then and there, if the thought didn't make him feel queasy. 

He put an end to that train of thought. He reached out, instead, dragged a blanket over him. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear i didn't mean to continue this

Dick made a lot of noise coming in from his cereal run. This was a mercy, because it meant that Jay had time to snatch his hand out of Bruce’s hair before he came in.

He _hadn’t_ been playing with his hair. He’d been looking for tranquilizer darts.

“Guys, guess what I got--”

“Hsst!” Jay flapped one arm frantically, shaking his head. “Shut the fuck up!”

“Wh-- oh. _Oh_ ,” Dick said, hushed, leaning over the back of the couch with wide eyes. “What the heck?”

Jay did not appreciate the incredulity. Maybe he’d been incredulous himself, when it had happened, but that didn’t mean _Dick_ was allowed to go around questioning whether Bruce loved Jay enough to sleep on him. He retaliated by leaning back to cross his eyes at Dick and flick his forehead. Dick gave a dramatic wince, staring at him with a betrayed expression that Jay completely ignored. “Idiot didn’t _sleep_ that whole time, apparently.”

“What, the whole time?” Dick echoed, brows rising.

“The _whole_ time. And nobody noticed, somehow.” They shared an eyeroll, shaking their heads. Almost like old times, united by one of Bruce’s many small weirdnesses. “Come on.” Jay started to shift Bruce, moving his head so he could stand. “Get in here, take over.”

Dick shook his head, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, and pressed Jay back into the couch. “Can’t move him, bud, you know that. Can’t risk waking him up.”

Jay could resist, had more brute strength than Dick did-- but he also had a sleeping bat that he couldn’t afford to dislodge too much. He wound up right back where he’d started. Bruce snuffled, as though to sympathize.

“What, so I just gotta sit here till he wakes up on his own? _Ugh_.” Jay wrinkled his nose, shoved a hand through his hair. “Come on, _dick_ , I have things to do. He likes you better anyway.”

“Oh, really?” Dick finally succumbed to his smile. A surprise maybe, but he _was_ happy to see the two most obstinate people he knew finally making some progress. “I don’t know, jaybird. He didn’t pick _me_ to cuddle with.”

Jay huffed loudly, and then had to try not to panic when Bruce stirred at the noise. There would be hell to pay if he tried to go back to work now. He and Dick both held their breath, staring, stock still-- and then let it out when Bruce relaxed.

“See? That’s gonna keep happening if you leave him with me. You gotta take over.”

“Sorry, Jaybird,” Dick chirped, ruffling his hair as he walked away. “The rest of us have to live with him _all the time_. You’ll survive a couple hours extra exposure.” 

Jay swatted at him, ducking his head, but didn’t mount too much resistance. It would be dumb, he reflected, to try to resist reincorporation to the family with Bruce literally asleep in his lap. Jay was stubborn, but nobody was stubborn enough to pull _that_ off. 


End file.
